from him is worth the having. He is not a dealer in it, and itcomes from his heart. We thought Mr--'

'Pinch,' said Mary.

'Mr Pinch would have arrived before us, Pecksniff.'

'He did arrive before you, my dear sir,' retorted Pecksniff, raisinghis voice for the edification of Tom upon the stairs, 'and wasabout, I dare say, to tell me of your coming, when I begged himfirst to knock at my daughters' chamber, and inquire after Charity,my dear child, who is not so well as I could wish. No,' said MrPecksniff, answering their looks, 'I am sorry to say, she is not.It is merely an hysterical affection; nothing more, I am not uneasy.Mr Pinch! Thomas!' exclaimed Pecksniff, in his kindest accents.'Pray come in. I shall make no stranger of you. Thomas is a friendof mine, of rather long-standing, Mr Chuzzlewit, you must know.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Tom. 'You introduce me very kindly, andspeak of me in terms of which I am very proud'

'Old Thomas!' cried his master, pleasantly 'God bless you!'

Tom reported that the young ladies would appear directly, and thatthe best refreshments which the house afforded were even then inpreparation, under their joint superintendence. While he wasspeaking, the old man looked at him intently, though with lessharshness than was common to him; nor did the mutual embarrassmentof Tom and the young lady, to whatever cause he attributed it, seemto escape his observation.

'Pecksniff,' he said after a pause, rising and taking him asidetowards the window, 'I was much shocked on hearing of my brother'sdeath. We had been strangers for many years. My only comfort isthat he must have lived the happier and better man for havingassociated no hopes or schemes with me. Peace to his memory! Wewere play-fellows once; and it would have been better for us both ifwe had died then.'

Finding him in this gentle mood, Mr Pecksniff began to see anotherway out of his difficulties, besides the casting overboard of Jonas.

'That any man, my dear sir, could possibly be the happier for notknowing you,' he returned, 'you will excuse my doubting. But thatMr Anthony, in the evening of his life, was happier in the affectionof his excellent son--a pattern, my dear sir, a pattern to all sons--and in the care of a distant relation who, however lowly in hismeans of serving him, had no bounds to his inclination; I can informyou.'

'How's this?' said the old man. 'You are not a legatee?'

'You don't,' said Mr Pecksniff, with a melancholy pressure of hishand, 'quite understand my nature yet, I find. No, sir, I am not alegatee. I am proud to say I am not a legatee. I am proud to saythat neither of my children is a legatee. And yet, sir, I was withhim at his own request. HE understood me somewhat better, sir. Hewrote and said, "I am sick. I am sinking. Come to me!" I went tohim. I sat beside his bed, sir, and I stood beside his grave. Yes,at the risk of offending even you, I did it, sir. Though the avowalshould lead to our instant separation, and to the severing of thosetender ties between us which have recently been formed, I make it.But I am not a legatee,' said Mr Pecksniff, smiling dispassionately;'and I never expected to be a legatee. I knew better!'

'His son a pattern!' cried old Martin. 'How can you tell me that?My brother had in his wealth the usual doom of wealth, and root ofmisery. He carried his corrupting influence with him, go where hewould; and shed it round him, even on his hearth. It made of hisown child a greedy expectant, who measured every day and hour thelessening distance between his father and the grave, and cursed histardy progress on that dismal road.'

'No!' cried Mr Pecksniff, boldly. 'Not at all, sir!'

'But I saw that shadow in his house,' said Martin Chuzzlewit, 'thelast time we met, and warned him of its presence. I know it when Isee it, do I not? I, who have lived within it all these years!'

'I deny it,' Mr Pecksniff answered, warmly. 'I deny it altogether.That bereaved young man is now in this house, sir, seeking in changeof scene the peace of mind he has lost. Shall I be backward indoing justice to that young man, when even undertakers andcoffin-makers have been moved by the conduct he has exhibited; wheneven mutes have spoken in his praise, and the medical man hasn'tknown what to do with himself in the excitement of his feelings!There is a person of the name of Gamp, sir--Mrs Gamp--ask her. Shesaw Mr Jonas in a trying time. Ask HER, sir. She is respectable,but not sentimental, and will state the fact. A line addressed toMrs Gamp, at the BirdShop, Kingsgate Street, High Holborn, London,will meet with every attention, I have no doubt. Let her beexamined, my good sir. Strike, but hear! Leap, Mr Chuzzlewit, butlook! Forgive me, my dear sir,' said Mr Pecksniff, taking both hishands, 'if I am warm; but I am honest, and must state the truth.'

In proof of the character he gave himself, Mr Pecksniff sufferedtears of honesty to ooze out of his eyes.

The old man gazed at him for a moment with a look of wonder,repeating to himself, 'Here now! In this house!' But he masteredhis surprise, and said, after a pause:

'Let me see him.'

'In a friendly spirit, I hope?' said Mr Pecksniff. 'Forgive me, sirbut he is in the receipt of my humble hospitality.'

'I said,' replied the old man, 'let me see him. If I were disposedto regard him in any other than a friendly spirit, I should havesaid keep us apart.'

'Certainly, my dear sir. So you would. You are frankness itself, Iknow. I will break this happiness to him,' said Mr Pecksniff, as heleft the room, 'if you will excuse me for a minute--gently.'

He paved the way to the disclosure so very gently, that a quarter ofan hour elapsed before he returned with Mr Jonas. In the meantimethe young ladies had made their appearance, and the table had beenset out for the refreshment of the travellers.

Now, however well Mr Pecksniff, in his morality, had taught Jonasthe lesson of dutiful behaviour to his uncle, and however perfectlyJonas, in the cunning of his nature, had learnt it, that young man'sbearing, when presented to his father's brother, was anything butmanly or engaging. Perhaps, indeed, so singular a mixture ofdefiance and obsequiousness, of fear and hardihood, of doggedsullenness and an attempt at enraging and propitiation, never wasexpressed in any one human figure as in that of Jonas, when, havingraised his downcast eyes to Martin's face, he let them fall again,and uneasily closing and unclosing his hands without a moment'sintermission, stood swinging himself from side to side, waiting tobe addressed.

'Nephew,' said the old man. 'You have been a dutiful son, I hear.'

'As dutiful as sons in general, I suppose,' returned Jonas, lookingup and down once more. 'I don't brag to have been any better thanother sons; but I haven't been any worse, I dare say.'

'A pattern to all sons, I am told,' said the old man, glancingtowards Mr Pecksniff.

'Ecod!' said Jonas, looking up again for a moment, and shaking hishead, 'I've been as good a son as ever you were a brother. It's thepot and the kettle, if you come to that.'

Jonas did so, and was almost at his ease. 'Pecksniff,' hewhispered, as they drew their chairs about the table; 'I gave him asgood as he brought, eh? He had better look at home, before he looksout of window, I think?'

Mr Pecksniff only answered by a nudge of the elbow, which mighteither be construed into an indignant remonstrance or a cordialassent; but which, in any case, was an emphatic admonition to hischosen son-in-law to be silent. He then proceeded to do the honoursof the house with his accustomed ease and amiability.

But not even Mr Pecksniff's guileless merriment could set such aparty at their ease, or reconcile materials so utterly discordantand conflicting as those with which he had to deal. The unspeakablejealously and hatred which that night's explanation had sown inCharity's breast, was not to be so easily kept down; and more thanonce it showed itself in such intensity, as seemed to render a fulldisclosure of all the circumstances then and there, impossible to beavoided. The beauteous Merry, too, with all the glory of herconquest fresh upon her, so probed and lanced the ranklingdisappointment of her sister by her capricious airs and thousandlittle trials of Mr Jonas's obedience, that she almost goaded herinto a fit of madness, and obliged her to retire from table in aburst of passion, hardly less vehement than that to which she hadabandoned herself in the first tumult of her wrath. The constraintimposed upon the family by the presence among them for the firsttime of Mary Graham (for by that name old Martin Chuzzlewit hadintroduced her) did not at all improve this state of things; gentleand quiet though her manner was. Mr Pecksniff's situation waspeculiarly trying; for, what with having constantly to keep thepeace between his daughters; to maintain a reasonable show ofaffection and unity in his household; to curb the growing ease andgaiety of Jonas, which vented itself in sundry insolences towards MrPinch, and an indefinable coarseness of manner in reference to Mary(they being the two dependants); to make no mention at all of hishaving perpetually to conciliate his rich old relative, and tosmooth down, or explain away, some of the ten thousand badappearances and combinations of bad appearances, by which they weresurrounded on that unlucky evening--what with having to do this, andit would be difficult to sum up how much more, without the leastrelief or assistance from anybody, it may be easily imagined that MrPecksniff had in his enjoyment something more than that usualportion of alloy which is mixed up with the best of men's delights.Perhaps he had never in his life felt such relief as when oldMartin, looking at his watch, announced that it was time to go.

'We have rooms,' he said, 'at the Dragon, for the present. I have afancy for the evening walk. The nights are dark just now; perhapsMr Pinch would not object to light us home?'

'The lantern, if you please, my dear,' said Martin; 'but I couldn'tthink of taking your father out of doors to-night; and, to be brief,I won't.'

Mr Pecksniff already had his hat in his hand, but it was soemphatically said that he paused.

'I take Mr Pinch, or go alone,' said Martin. 'Which shall it be?'

'It shall be Thomas, sir,' cried Pecksniff, 'since you are soresolute upon it. Thomas, my friend, be very careful, if youplease.'

Tom was in some need of this injunction, for he felt so nervous, andtrembled to such a degree, that he found it difficult to hold thelantern. How much more difficult when, at the old man's bidding shedrew her hand through his--Tom Pinch's--arm!

'And so, Mr Pinch,' said Martin, on the way, 'you are verycomfortably situated here; are you?'

Tom answered, with even more than his usual enthusiasm, that he wasunder obligations to Mr Pecksniff which the devotion of a lifetimewould but imperfectly repay.

'How long have you known my nephew?' asked Martin.

'Your nephew, sir?' faltered Tom.

'Mr Jonas Chuzzlewit,' said Mary.

'Oh dear, yes,' cried Tom, greatly relieved, for his mind wasrunning upon Martin. 'Certainly. I never spoke to him before to-night, sir!'

'Perhaps half a lifetime will suffice for the acknowledgment of HISkindness,' observed the old man.

Tom felt that this was a rebuff for him, and could not butunderstand it as a left-handed hit at his employer. So he wassilent. Mary felt that Mr Pinch was not remarkable for presence ofmind, and that he could not say too little under existingcircumstances. So SHE was silent. The old man, disgusted by whatin his suspicious nature he considered a shameless and fulsome puffof Mr Pecksniff, which was a part of Tom's hired service and inwhich he was determined to persevere, set him down at once for adeceitful, servile, miserable fawner. So HE was silent. And thoughthey were all sufficiently uncomfortable, it is fair to say thatMartin was perhaps the most so; for he had felt kindly towards Tomat first, and had been interested by his seeming simplicity.

'You're like the rest,' he thought, glancing at the face of theunconscious Tom. 'You had nearly imposed upon me, but you have lostyour labour. You are too zealous a toad-eater, and betray yourself,Mr Pinch.'

During the whole remainder of the walk, not another word was spoken.First among the meetings to which Tom had long looked forward with abeating heart, it was memorable for nothing but embarrassment andconfusion. They parted at the Dragon door; and sighing as heextinguished the candle in the lantern, Tom turned back again overthe gloomy fields.

As he approached the first stile, which was in a lonely part, madevery dark by a plantation of young firs, a man slipped past him andwent on before. Coming to the stile he stopped, and took his seatupon it. Tom was rather startled, and for a moment stood still, buthe stepped forward again immediately, and went close up to him.

It was Jonas; swinging his legs to and fro, sucking the head of astick, and looking with a sneer at Tom.

'Good gracious me!' cried Tom, 'who would have thought of its beingyou! You followed us, then?'

'What's that to you?' said Jonas. 'Go to the devil!'

'You are not very civil, I think,' remarked Tom.

'Civil enough for YOU,' retorted Jonas. 'Who are you?'

'One who has as good a right to common consideration as another,'said Tom mildly.

'You're a liar,' said Jonas. 'You haven't a right to anyconsideration. You haven't a right to anything. You're a prettysort of fellow to talk about your rights, upon my soul! Ha, ha!--Rights, too!'

'If you proceed in this way,' returned Tom, reddening, 'you willoblige me to talk about my wrongs. But I hope your joke is over.'

'It's the way with you curs,' said Mr Jonas, 'that when you know aman's in real earnest, you pretend to think he's joking, so that youmay turn it off. But that won't do with me. It's too stale. Nowjust attend to me for a bit, Mr Pitch, or Witch, or Stitch, orwhatever your name is.'

'My name is Pinch,' observed Tom. 'Have the goodness to call me byit.'

'What! You mustn't even be called out of your name, mustn't you!'cried Jonas. 'Pauper' prentices are looking up, I think. Ecod, wemanage 'em a little better in the city!'

'Never mind what you do in the city,' said Tom. 'What have you gotto say to me?'

'Just this, Mister Pinch,' retorted Jonas, thrusting his face soclose to Tom's that Tom was obliged to retreat a step. 'I adviseyou to keep your own counsel, and to avoid title-tattle, and not tocut in where you're not wanted. I've heard something of you, myfriend, and your meek ways; and I recommend you to forget 'em till Iam married to one of Pecksniff's gals, and not to curry favour amongmy relations, but to leave the course clear. You know, when curswon't leave the course clear, they're whipped off; so this is kindadvice. Do you understand? Eh? Damme, who are you,' cried Jonas,with increased contempt, 'that you should walk home with THEM,unless it was behind 'em, like any other servant out of livery?'

'Come!' cried Tom, 'I see that you had better get off the stile, andlet me pursue my way home. Make room for me, if you please.'

'Don't think it!' said Jonas, spreading out his legs. 'Not till Ichoose. And I don't choose now. What! You're afraid of my makingyou split upon some of your babbling just now, are you, Sneak?'

'I am not afraid of many things, I hope,' said Tom; 'and certainlynot of anything that you will do. I am not a tale-bearer, and Idespise all meanness. You quite mistake me. Ah!' cried Tom,indignantly. 'Is this manly from one in your position to one inmine? Please to make room for me to pass. The less I say, thebetter.'

'The less you say!' retorted Jonas, dangling his legs the more, andtaking no heed of this request. 'You say very little, don't you?Ecod, I should like to know what goes on between you and a vagabondmember of my family. There's very little in that too, I dare say!'

'I know no vagabond member of your family,' cried Tom, stoutly,

'You do!' said Jonas.

'I don't,' said Tom. 'Your uncle's namesake, if you mean him, is novagabond. Any comparison between you and him'--Tom snapped hisfingers at him, for he was rising fast in wrath--'is immeasurably toyour disadvantage.'

'I don't mean to say another word, or stay here another instant,'replied Tom.

'As I told you before, you're a liar,' said Jonas, coolly. 'You'llstay here till I give you leave to go. Now, keep where you are,will you?'

He flourished his stick over Tom's head; but in a moment it wasspinning harmlessly in the air, and Jonas himself lay sprawling inthe ditch. In the momentary struggle for the stick, Tom had broughtit into violent contact with his opponent's forehead; and the bloodwelled out profusely from a deep cut on the temple. Tom was firstapprised of this by seeing that he pressed his handkerchief to thewounded part, and staggered as he rose, being stunned.

'Are you hurt?' said Tom. 'I am very sorry. Lean on me for amoment. You can do that without forgiving me, if you still bear memalice. But I don't know why; for I never offended you before wemet on this spot.'

He made him no answer; not appearing at first to understand him, oreven to know that he was hurt, though he several times took hishandkerchief from the cut to look vacantly at the blood upon it.After one of these examinations, he looked at Tom, and then therewas an expression in his features, which showed that he understoodwhat had taken place, and would remember it.

Nothing more passed between them as they went home. Jonas kept alittle in advance, and Tom Pinch sadly followed, thinking of thegrief which the knowledge of this quarrel must occasion hisexcellent benefactor. When Jonas knocked at the door, Tom's heartbeat high; higher when Miss Mercy answered it, and seeing herwounded lover, shireked aloud; higher, when he followed them intothe family parlour; higher than at any other time, when Jonas spoke.

'Don't make a noise about it,' he said. 'It's nothing worthmentioning. I didn't know the road; the night's very dark; and justas I came up with Mr Pinch'--he turned his face towards Tom, but nothis eyes--'I ran against a tree. It's only skin deep.'

'Oh, bother YOUR nonsense,' returned the gracious son-in-law elect.'Be of some use if you can. If you can't, get out!'

Miss Charity, though called upon to lend her aid, sat upright in onecorner, with a smile upon her face, and didn't move a finger.Though Mercy laved the wound herself; and Mr Pecksniff held thepatient's head between his two hands, as if without that assistanceit must inevitably come in half; and Tom Pinch, in his guiltyagitation, shook a bottle of Dutch Drops until they were nothing butEnglish Froth, and in his other hand sustained a formidable carving-knife, really intended to reduce the swelling, but apparentlydesigned for the ruthless infliction of another wound as soon asthat was dressed; Charity rendered not the least assistance, noruttered a word. But when Mr Jonas's head was bound up, and he hadgone to bed, and everybody else had retired, and the house wasquiet, Mr Pinch, as he sat mournfully on his bedstead, ruminating,heard a gentle tap at his door; and opening it, saw her, to hisgreat astonishment, standing before him with her finger on her lip.

'Mr Pinch,' she whispered. 'Dear Mr Pinch! Tell me the truth!You did that? There was some quarrel between you, and you struckhim? I am sure of it!'

It was the first time she had ever spoken kindly to Tom, in allthe many years they had passed together. He was stupefied withamazement.

'Was it so, or not?' she eagerly demanded.

'I was very much provoked,' said Tom.

'Then it was?' cried Charity, with sparkling eyes.

'Ye-yes. We had a struggle for the path,' said Tom. 'But I didn'tmean to hurt him so much.'

'Not so much!' she repeated, clenching her hand and stamping herfoot, to Tom's great wonder. 'Don't say that. It was brave of you.I honour you for it. If you should ever quarrel again, don't sparehim for the world, but beat him down and set your shoe upon him.Not a word of this to anybody. Dear Mr Pinch, I am your friend fromtonight. I am always your friend from this time.'

She turned her flushed face upon Tom to confirm her words by itskindling expression; and seizing his right hand, pressed it to herbreast, and kissed it. And there was nothing personal in this torender it at all embarrassing, for even Tom, whose power ofobservation was by no means remarkable, knew from the energy withwhich she did it that she would have fondled any hand, no matter howbedaubed or dyed, that had broken the head of Jonas Chuzzlewit.

Tom went into his room, and went to bed, full of uncomfortablethoughts. That there should be any such tremendous division in thefamily as he knew must have taken place to convert Charity Pecksniffinto his friend, for any reason, but, above all, for that which wasclearly the real one; that Jonas, who had assailed him with suchexceeding coarseness, should have been sufficiently magnanimous tokeep the secret of their quarrel; and that any train ofcircumstances should have led to the commission of an assault andbattery by Thomas Pinch upon any man calling himself the friend ofSeth Pecksniff; were matters of such deep and painful cogitationthat he could not close his eyes. His own violence, in particular,so preyed upon the generous mind of Tom, that coupling it with themany former occasions on which he had given Mr Pecksniff pain andanxiety (occasions of which that gentleman often reminded him), hereally began to regard himself as destined by a mysterious fate tobe the evil genius and bad angel of his patron. But he fell asleepat last, and dreamed--new source of waking uneasiness--that he hadbetrayed his trust, and run away with Mary Graham.

It must be acknowledged that, asleep or awake, Tom's position inreference to this young lady was full of uneasiness. The more hesaw of her, the more he admired her beauty, her intelligence, theamiable qualities that even won on the divided house of Pecksniff,and in a few days restored, at all events, the semblance of harmonyand kindness between the angry sisters. When she spoke, Tom heldhis breath, so eagerly he listened; when she sang, he sat like oneentranced. She touched his organ, and from that bright epoch evenit, the old companion of his happiest hours, incapable as he hadthought of elevation, began a new and deified existence.

God's love upon thy patience, Tom! Who, that had beheld thee, forthree summer weeks, poring through half the deadlong night over thejingling anatomy of that inscrutable old harpsichord in the backparlour, could have missed the entrance to thy secret heart: albeitit was dimly known to thee? Who that had seen the glow upon thycheek when leaning down to listen, after hours of labour, for thesound of one incorrigible note, thou foundest that it had a voice atlast, and wheezed out a flat something, distantly akin to what itought to be, would not have known that it was destined for no commontouch, but one that smote, though gently as an angel's hand, uponthe deepest chord within thee! And if a friendly glance--aye, eventhough it were as guileless as thine own, Dear Tom--could have butpierced the twilight of that evening, when, in a voice well temperedto the time, sad, sweet, and low, yet hopeful, she first sang to thealtered instrument, and wondered at the change; and thou, sittingapart at the open window, kept a glad silence and a swelling heart--must not that glance have read perforce the dawning of a story, Tom,that it were well for thee had never been begun!

Tom Pinch's situation was not made the less dangerous or difficultby the fact of no one word passing between them in reference toMartin. Honourably mindful of his promise, Tom gave heropportunities of all kinds. Early and late he was in the church; inher favourite walks; in the village, in the garden, in the meadows;and in any or all of these places he might have spoken freely. Butno; at all such times she carefully avoided him, or never came inhis way unaccompanied. It could not be that she disliked ordistrusted him, for by a thousand little delicate means, too slightfor any notice but his own, she singled him out when others werepresent, and showed herself the very soul of kindness. Could it bethat she had broken with Martin, or had never returned hisaffection, save in his own bold and heightened fancy? Tom's cheekgrew red with self-reproach as he dismissed the thought.

All this time old Martin came and went in his own strange manner, orsat among the rest absorbed within himself, and holding littleintercourse with any one. Although he was unsocial, he was notwillful in other things, or troublesome, or morose; being neverbetter pleased than when they left him quite unnoticed at his book,and pursued their own amusements in his presence, unreserved. Itwas impossible to discern in whom he took an interest, or whether hehad an interest in any of them. Unless they spoke to him directly,he never showed that he had ears or eyes for anything that passed.

One day the lively Merry, sitting with downcast eyes under a shadytree in the churchyard, whither she had retired after fatiguingherself by the imposition of sundry trials on the temper of MrJonas, felt that a new shadow came between her and the sun. Raisingher eyes in the expectation of seeing her betrothed, she was not alittle surprised to see old Martin instead. Her surprise was notdiminished when he took his seat upon the turf beside her, andopened a conversation thus:

'If it be odd in me to desire to know whether you love the young manwhom I understand you are to marry, I AM very odd,' said Martin.'For that is certainly my wish.'

'He's such a monster, you know,' said Merry, pouting.

'Then you don't love him?' returned the old man. 'Is that yourmeaning?'

'Why, my dear Mr Chuzzlewit, I'm sure I tell him a hundred times aday that I hate him. You must have heard me tell him that.'

'Often,' said Martin.

'And so I do,' cried Merry. 'I do positively.'

'Being at the same time engaged to marry him,' observed the old man.

'Oh yes,' said Merry. 'But I told the wretch--my dear MrChuzzlewit, I told him when he asked me--that if I ever did marryhim, it should only be that I might hate and tease him all my life.'

She had a suspicion that the old man regarded Jonas with anythingbut favour, and intended these remarks to be extremely captivating.He did not appear, however, to regard them in that light by anymeans; for when he spoke again, it was in a tone of severity.

'Look about you,' he said, pointing to the graves; 'and rememberthat from your bridal hour to the day which sees you brought as lowas these, and laid in such a bed, there will be no appeal againsthim. Think, and speak, and act, for once, like an accountablecreature. Is any control put upon your inclinations? Are youforced into this match? Are you insidiously advised or tempted tocontract it, by any one? I will not ask by whom; by any one?'

'No,' said Merry, shrugging her shoulders. 'I don't know that Iam.'

'Don't know that you are! Are you?'

'No,' replied Merry. 'Nobody ever said anything to me about it. Ifany one had tried to make me have him, I wouldn't have had him atall.'

'I am told that he was at first supposed to be your sister'sadmirer,' said Martin.

'Oh, good gracious! My dear Mr Chuzzlewit, it would be very hard tomake him, though he IS a monster, accountable for other people'svanity,' said Merry. 'And poor dear Cherry is the vainest darling!'

'It was her mistake, then?'

'I hope it was,' cried Merry; 'but, all along, the dear child hasbeen so dreadfully jealous, and SO cross, that, upon my word andhonour, it's impossible to please her, and it's of no use trying.'

'Not forced, persuaded, or controlled,' said Martin, thoughtfully.'And that's true, I see. There is one chance yet. You may havelapsed into this engagement in very giddiness. It may have been thewanton act of a light head. Is that so?'

'My dear Mr Chuzzlewit,' simpered Merry, 'as to light-headedness,there never was such a feather of a head as mine. It's perfectballoon, I declare! You never DID, you know!'

He waited quietly till she had finished, and then said, steadily andslowly, and in a softened voice, as if he would still invite herconfidence:

'Have you any wish--or is there anything within your breast thatwhispers you may form the wish, if you have time to think--to bereleased from this engagement?'

Again Miss Merry pouted, and looked down, and plucked the grass, andshrugged her shoulders. No. She didn't know that she had. She waspretty sure she hadn't. Quite sure, she might say. She 'didn'tmind it.'

'Has it ever occurred to you,' said Martin, 'that your married lifemay perhaps be miserable, full of bitterness, and most unhappy?'

Merry looked down again; and now she tore the grass up by the roots.

'My dear Mr Chuzzlewit, what shocking words! Of course, I shallquarrel with him. I should quarrel with any husband. Marriedpeople always quarrel, I believe. But as to being miserable, andbitter, and all those dreadful things, you know, why I couldn't beabsolutely that, unless he always had the best of it; and I mean tohave the best of it myself. I always do now,' cried Merry, noddingher head and giggling very much; 'for I make a perfect slave of thecreature.'

'Let it go on,' said Martin, rising. 'Let it go on! I sought toknow your mind, my dear, and you have shown it me. I wish you joy.Joy!' he repeated, looking full upon her, and pointing to thewicket-gate where Jonas entered at the moment. And then, withoutwaiting for his nephew, he passed out at another gate, and wentaway.

'Oh, you terrible old man!' cried the facetious Merry to herself.'What a perfectly hideous monster to be wandering about churchyardsin the broad daylight, frightening people out of their wits! Don'tcome here, Griffin, or I'll go away directly.'

Mr Jonas was the Griffin. He sat down upon the grass at her side,in spite of this warning, and sulkily inquired:

'Only giving you a squeeze,' said the discomfited Jonas. 'There'sno harm in that, I suppose?'

'But there is great deal of harm in it, if I don't consider itagreeable,' returned his cousin. 'Do go along, will you? You makeme so hot!'

Mr Jonas withdrew his arm, and for a moment looked at her more likea murderer than a lover. But he cleared his brow by degrees, andbroke silence with:

'I say, Mel!'

'What do you say, you vulgar thing--you low savage?' cried his fairbetrothed.

'When is it to be? I can't afford to go on dawdling about here halfmy life, I needn't tell you, and Pecksniff says that father's beingso lately dead makes very little odds; for we can be married asquiet as we please down here, and my being lonely is a good reasonto the neighbours for taking a wife home so soon, especially onethat he knew. As to crossbones (my uncle, I mean), he's sure not toput a spoke in the wheel, whatever we settle on, for he toldPecksniff only this morning, that if YOU liked it he'd nothing atall to say. So, Mel,' said Jonas, venturing on another squeeze;'when shall it be?'

'Upon my word!' cried Merry.

'Upon my soul, if you like,' said Jonas. 'What do you say to nextweek, now?'

'To next week! If you had said next quarter, I should have wonderedat your impudence.'

'But I didn't say next quarter,' retorted Jonas. 'I said nextweek.'

'Then, Griffin,' cried Miss Merry, pushing him off, and rising. 'Isay no! not next week. It shan't be till I choose, and I may notchoose it to be for months. There!'

He glanced up at her from the ground, almost as darkly as he hadlooked at Tom Pinch; but held his peace.

'No fright of a Griffin with a patch over his eye shall dictate tome or have a voice in the matter,' said Merry. 'There!'

Still Mr Jonas held his peace.

'If it's next month, that shall be the very earliest; but I won'tsay when it shall be till to-morrow; and if you don't like that, itshall never be at all,' said Merry; 'and if you follow me about andwon't leave me alone, it shall never be at all. There!v And if youdon't do everything I order you to do, it shall never be at all. Sodon't follow me. There, Griffin!'

And with that, she skipped away, among the trees.

'Ecod, my lady!' said Jonas, looking after her, and biting a pieceof straw, almost to powder; 'you'll catch it for this, when you AREmarried. It's all very well now--it keeps one on, somehow, and youknow it--but I'll pay you off scot and lot by-and-bye. This is aplaguey dull sort of a place for a man to be sitting by himself in.I never could abide a mouldy old churchyard.'

As he turned into the avenue himself, Miss Merry, who was far ahead,happened to look back.

'Ah!' said Jonas, with a sullen smile, and a nod that was notaddressed to her. 'Make the most of it while it lasts. Get in yourhay while the sun shines. Take your own way as long as it's in yourpower, my lady!'

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

IS IN PART PROFESSIONAL, AND FURNISHES THE READER WITH SOME VALUABLEHINTS IN RELATION TO THE MANAGEMENT OF A SICK CHAMBER

Mr Mould was surrounded by his household gods. He was enjoyingthe sweets of domestic repose, and gazing on them with a calmdelight. The day being sultry, and the window open, the legs of MrMould were on the window-seat, and his back reclined against theshutter. Over his shining head a handkerchief was drawn, to guardhis baldness from the flies. The room was fragrant with the smellof punch, a tumbler of which grateful compound stood upon a smallround table, convenient to the hand of Mr Mould; so deftly mixedthat as his eye looked down into the cool transparent drink, anothereye, peering brightly from behind the crisp lemon-peel, looked up athim, and twinkled like a star.

Deep in the City, and within the ward of Cheap, stood Mr Mould'sestablishment. His Harem, or, in other words, the common sittingroom of Mrs Mould and family, was at the back, over the littlecounting-house behind the shop; abutting on a churchyard small andshady. In this domestic chamber Mr Mould now sat; gazing, a placidman, upon his punch and home. If, for a moment at a time, he soughta wider prospect, whence he might return with freshened zest tothese enjoyments, his moist glance wandered like a sunbeam through arural screen of scarlet runners, trained on strings before thewindow, and he looked down, with an artist's eye, upon the graves.

The partner of his life, and daughters twain, were Mr Mould'scompanions. Plump as any partridge was each Miss Mould, and Mrs M.was plumper than the two together. So round and chubby were theirfair proportions, that they might have been the bodies oncebelonging to the angels' faces in the shop below, grown up, withother heads attached to make them mortal. Even their peachy cheekswere puffed out and distended, as though they ought of right to beperforming on celestial trumpets. The bodiless cherubs in the shop,who were depicted as constantly blowing those instruments for everand ever without any lungs, played, it is to be presumed, entirelyby ear.

Mr Mould looked lovingly at Mrs Mould, who sat hard by, and was ahelpmate to him in his punch as in all other things. Each seraphdaughter, too, enjoyed her share of his regards, and smiled upon himin return. So bountiful were Mr Mould's possessions, and so largehis stock in trade, that even there, within his household sanctuary,stood a cumbrous press, whose mahogany maw was filled with shrouds,and winding-sheets, and other furniture of funerals. But, thoughthe Misses Mould had been brought up, as one may say, beneath hiseye, it had cast no shadow on their timid infancy or blooming youth.Sporting behind the scenes of death and burial from cradlehood, theMisses Mould knew better. Hat-bands, to them, were but so many yardsof silk or crape; the final robe but such a quantity of linen. TheMisses Mould could idealise a player's habit, or a court-lady'spetticoat, or even an act of parliament. But they were not to betaken in by palls. They made them sometimes.

The premises of Mr Mould were hard of hearing to the boisterousnoises in the great main streets, and nestled in a quiet corner,where the City strife became a drowsy hum, that sometimes rose andsometimes fell and sometimes altogether ceased; suggesting to athoughtful mind a stoppage in Cheapside. The light came sparklingin among the scarlet runners, as if the churchyard winked at MrMould, and said, 'We understand each other;' and from the distantshop a pleasant sound arose of coffin-making with a low melodioushammer, rat, tat, tat, tat, alike promoting slumber and digestion.

'Quite the buzz of insects,' said Mr Mould, closing his eyes in aperfect luxury. 'It puts one in mind of the sound of animatednature in the agricultural districts. It's exactly like thewoodpecker tapping.'

'The woodpecker tapping the hollow ELM tree,' observed Mrs Mould,adapting the words of the popular melody to the description of woodcommonly used in the trade.

'Ha, ha!' laughed Mr Mould. 'Not at all bad, my dear. We shall beglad to hear from you again, Mrs M. Hollow elm tree, eh! Ha, ha!Very good indeed. I've seen worse than that in the Sunday papers,my love.'

Mrs Mould, thus encouraged, took a little more of the punch, andhanded it to her daughters, who dutifully followed the example oftheir mother.

'Hollow ELM tree, eh?' said Mr Mould, making a slight motion withhis legs in his enjoyment of the joke. 'It's beech in the song.Elm, eh? Yes, to be sure. Ha, ha, ha! Upon my soul, that's one ofthe best things I know?' He was so excessively tickled by the jestthat he couldn't forget it, but repeated twenty times, 'Elm, eh?Yes, to be sure. Elm, of course. Ha, ha, ha! Upon my life, youknow, that ought to be sent to somebody who could make use of it.It's one of the smartest things that ever was said. Hollow ELMtree, eh? of course. Very hollow. Ha, ha, ha!'

Here a knock was heard at the room door.

'That's Tacker, I know,' said Mrs Mould, 'by the wheezing he makes.Who that hears him now, would suppose he'd ever had wind enough tocarry the feathers on his head! Come in, Tacker.'

'Tell 'em to go somewhere else. We don't do that style of businesshere,' said Mr Mould. 'Like their impudence to propose it. Who isit?'

'Why,' returned Tacker, pausing, 'that's where it is, you see. It'sthe beadle's son-in-law.'

'The beadle's son-in-law, eh?' said Mould. 'Well! I'll do it if thebeadle follows in his cocked hat; not else. We carry it off thatway, by looking official, but it'll be low enough, then. His cockedhat, mind!'

The lady in question was by this time in the doorway, curtseying toMrs Mould. At the same moment a peculiar fragrance was borne uponthe breeze, as if a passing fairy had hiccoughed, and had previouslybeen to a wine-vaults.

Mrs Gamp made no response to Mr Mould, but curtseyed to Mrs Mouldagain, and held up her hands and eyes, as in a devout thanksgivingthat she looked so well. She was neatly, but not gaudily attired,in the weeds she had worn when Mr Pecksniff had the pleasure ofmaking her acquaintance; and was perhaps the turning of a scale moresnuffy.

'There are some happy creeturs,' Mrs Gamp observed, 'as time runsback'ards with, and you are one, Mrs Mould; not that he need donothing except use you in his most owldacious way for years to come,I'm sure; for young you are and will be. I says to Mrs Harris,' MrsGamp continued, 'only t'other day; the last Monday evening fortnightas ever dawned upon this Piljian's Projiss of a mortal wale; I saysto Mrs Harris when she says to me, "Years and our trials, Mrs Gamp,sets marks upon us all."--"Say not the words, Mrs Harris, if you andme is to be continual friends, for sech is not the case. MrsMould," I says, making so free, I will confess, as use the name,'(she curtseyed here), '"is one of them that goes agen theobserwation straight; and never, Mrs Harris, whilst I've a drop ofbreath to draw, will I set by, and not stand up, don't think it."--"I ast your pardon, ma'am," says Mrs Harris, "and I humbly grantyour grace; for if ever a woman lived as would see her fellercreeturs into fits to serve her friends, well do I know that woman'sname is Sairey Gamp."'

At this point she was fain to stop for breath; and advantage may betaken of the circumstance, to state that a fearful mysterysurrounded this lady of the name of Harris, whom no one in thecircle of Mrs Gamp's acquaintance had ever seen; neither did anyhuman being know her place of residence, though Mrs Gamp appeared onher own showing to be in constant communication with her. Therewere conflicting rumours on the subject; but the prevalent opinionwas that she was a phantom of Mrs Gamp's brain--as Messrs. Doe andRoe are fictions of the law--created for the express purpose ofholding visionary dialogues with her on all manner of subjects, andinvariably winding up with a compliment to the excellence of hernature.

'And likeways what a pleasure,' said Mrs Gamp, turning with atearful smile towards the daughters, 'to see them two young ladiesas I know'd afore a tooth in their pretty heads was cut, and havemany a day seen--ah, the sweet creeturs!--playing at berryins downin the shop, and follerin' the order-book to its long home in theiron safe! But that's all past and over, Mr Mould;' as she thus gotin a carefully regulated routine to that gentleman, she shook herhead waggishly; 'That's all past and over now, sir, an't it?'

'Oh yes, you do know, sir!' said Mrs Gamp, 'and so does Mrs Mould,your 'ansome pardner too, sir; and so do I, although the blessing ofa daughter was deniged me; which, if we had had one, Gamp wouldcertainly have drunk its little shoes right off its feet, as withour precious boy he did, and arterward send the child a errand tosell his wooden leg for any money it would fetch as matches in therough, and bring it home in liquor; which was truly done beyond hisyears, for ev'ry individgle penny that child lost at toss or buy forkidney ones; and come home arterwards quite bold, to break the news,and offering to drown himself if sech would be a satisfaction to hisparents.--Oh yes, you do know, sir,' said Mrs Gamp, wiping her eyewith her shawl, and resuming the thread of her discourse. 'There'ssomething besides births and berryins in the newspapers, an't there,Mr Mould?'

Mr Mould winked at Mrs Mould, whom he had by this time taken on hisknee, and said: 'No doubt. A good deal more, Mrs Gamp. Upon mylife, Mrs Gamp is very far from bad, my dear!'

'There's marryings, an't there, sir?' said Mrs Gamp, while both thedaughters blushed and tittered. 'Bless their precious hearts, andwell they knows it! Well you know'd it too, and well did Mrs Mould,when you was at their time of life! But my opinion is, you're all ofone age now. For as to you and Mrs Mould, sir, ever havinggrandchildren--'

Mrs Gamp took the chair that was nearest the door, and casting upher eyes towards the ceiling, feigned to be wholly insensible to thefact of a glass of rum being in preparation, until it was placed inher hand by one of the young ladies, when she exhibited the greatestsurprise.

'A thing,' she said, 'as hardly ever, Mrs Mould, occurs with meunless it is when I am indispoged, and find my half a pint of portersettling heavy on the chest. Mrs Harris often and often says to me,"Sairey Gamp," she says, "you raly do amaze me!" "Mrs Harris," Isays to her, "why so? Give it a name, I beg." "Telling the truththen, ma'am," says Mrs Harris, "and shaming him as shall be namelessbetwixt you and me, never did I think till I know'd you, as anywoman could sick-nurse and monthly likeways, on the little that youtakes to drink." "Mrs Harris," I says to her, "none on us knows whatwe can do till we tries; and wunst, when me and Gamp kept 'ouse, Ithought so too. But now," I says, "my half a pint of porter fullysatisfies; perwisin', Mrs Harris, that it is brought reg'lar, anddraw'd mild. Whether I sicks or monthlies, ma'am, I hope I does myduty, but I am but a poor woman, and I earns my living hard;therefore I DO require it, which I makes confession, to be broughtreg'lar and draw'd mild."'

The precise connection between these observations and the glass ofrum, did not appear; for Mrs Gamp proposing as a toast 'The best oflucks to all!' took off the dram in quite a scientific manner,without any further remarks.

'And what's your news, Mrs Gamp?' asked Mould again, as that ladywiped her lips upon her shawl, and nibbled a corner off a softbiscuit, which she appeared to carry in her pocket as a provisionagainst contingent drams. 'How's Mr Chuffey?'

'Mr Chuffey, sir,' she replied, 'is jest as usual; he an't no betterand he an't no worse. I take it very kind in the gentleman to havewrote up to you and said, "let Mrs Gamp take care of him till I comehome;" but ev'rythink he does is kind. There an't a many like him.If there was, we shouldn't want no churches.'

'What do you want to speak to me about, Mrs Gamp?' said Mould,coming to the point.

'Jest this, sir,' Mrs Gamp returned, 'with thanks to you for asking.There IS a gent, sir, at the Bull in Holborn, as has been took illthere, and is bad abed. They have a day nurse as was recommendedfrom Bartholomew's; and well I knows her, Mr Mould, her name bein'Mrs Prig, the best of creeturs. But she is otherways engaged atnight, and they are in wants of night-watching; consequent she saysto them, having reposed the greatest friendliness in me for twentyyear, "The soberest person going, and the best of blessings in asick room, is Mrs Gamp. Send a boy to Kingsgate Street," she says,"and snap her up at any price, for Mrs Gamp is worth her weight andmore in goldian guineas." My landlord brings the message down to me,and says, "bein' in a light place where you are, and this jobpromising so well, why not unite the two?" "No, sir," I says, "notunbeknown to Mr Mould, and therefore do not think it. But I will goto Mr Mould," I says, "and ast him, if you like."' Here she lookedsideways at the undertaker, and came to a stop.

'Quite free, then, sir, to attend to Mr Chuffey. His ways bein'quiet, and his hours early, he'd be abed, sir, nearly all the time.I will not deny,' said Mrs Gamp with meekness, 'that I am but a poorwoman, and that the money is a object; but do not let that act uponyou, Mr Mould. Rich folks may ride on camels, but it an't so easyfor 'em to see out of a needle's eye. That is my comfort, and Ihope I knows it.'

'Well, Mrs Gamp,' observed Mould, 'I don't see any particularobjection to your earning an honest penny under such circumstances.I should keep it quiet, I think, Mrs Gamp. I wouldn't mention it toMr Chuzzlewit on his return, for instance, unless it were necessary,or he asked you pointblank.'

'The very words was on my lips, sir,' Mrs Gamp rejoined. 'Suppogingthat the gent should die, I hope I might take the liberty of sayingas I know'd some one in the undertaking line, and yet give nooffence to you, sir?'

'Certainly, Mrs Gamp,' said Mould, with much condescension. 'Youmay casually remark, in such a case, that we do the thing pleasantlyand in a great variety of styles, and are generally considered tomake it as agreeable as possible to the feelings of the survivors.But don't obtrude it, don't obtrude it. Easy, easy! My dear, youmay as well give Mrs Gamp a card or two, if you please.'

Mrs Gamp received them, and scenting no more rum in the wind (forthe bottle was locked up again) rose to take her departure.

'Wishing ev'ry happiness to this happy family,' said Mrs Gamp 'withall my heart. Good arternoon, Mrs Mould! If I was Mr would I shouldbe jealous of you, ma'am; and I'm sure, if I was you, I should bejealous of Mr Mould.'

'As to the young ladies,' said Mrs Gamp, dropping a curtsey, 'blesstheir sweet looks--how they can ever reconsize it with their dutiesto be so grown up with such young parents, it an't for sech as me togive a guess at.'

'Nonsense, nonsense. Be off, Mrs Gamp!' cried Mould. But in theheight of his gratification he actually pinched Mrs Mould as he saidit.

'I'll tell you what, my dear,' he observed, when Mrs Gamp had atlast withdrawn and shut the door, 'that's a ve-ry shrewd woman.That's a woman whose intellect is immensely superior to her stationin life. That's a woman who observes and reflects in an uncommonmanner. She's the sort of woman now,' said Mould, drawing his silkhandkerchief over his head again, and composing himself for a nap'one would almost feel disposed to bury for nothing; and do itneatly, too!'

Mrs Mould and her daughters fully concurred in these remarks; thesubject of which had by this time reached the street, where sheexperienced so much inconvenience from the air, that she was obligedto stand under an archway for a short time, to recover herself.Even after this precaution, she walked so unsteadily as to attractthe compassionate regards of divers kind-hearted boys, who took theliveliest interest in her disorder; and in their simple languagebade her be of good cheer, for she was 'only a little screwed.'

Whatever she was, or whatever name the vocabulary of medical sciencewould have bestowed upon her malady, Mrs Gamp was perfectlyacquainted with the way home again; and arriving at the house ofAnthony Chuzzlewit & Son, lay down to rest. Remaining there untilseven o'clock in the evening, and then persuading poor old Chuffeyto betake himself to bed, she sallied forth upon her new engagement.First, she went to her private lodgings in Kingsgate Street, for abundle of robes and wrappings comfortable in the night season; andthen repaired to the Bull in Holborn, which she reached as theclocks were striking eight.

As she turned into the yard, she stopped; for the landlord,landlady, and head chambermaid, were all on the threshold togethertalking earnestly with a young gentleman who seemed to have justcome or to be just going away. The first words that struck upon MrsGamp's ear obviously bore reference to the patient; and it beingexpedient that all good attendants should know as much as possibleabout the case on which their skill is brought to bear, Mrs Gamplistened as a matter of duty.

'No better, then?' observed the gentleman.

'Worse!' said the landlord.

'Much worse,' added the landlady.

'Oh! a deal badder,' cried the chambermaid from the background,opening her eyes very wide, and shaking her head.

'Poor fellow!' said the gentleman, 'I am sorry to hear it. Theworst of it is, that I have no idea what friends or relations hehas, or where they live, except that it certainly is not in London.'

The landlord looked at the landlady; the landlady looked at thelandlord; and the chambermaid remarked, hysterically, 'that of allthe many wague directions she had ever seen or heerd of (and theywasn't few in an hotel), THAT was the waguest.'

'The fact is, you see,' pursued the gentleman, 'as I told youyesterday when you sent to me, I really know very little about him.We were school-fellows together; but since that time I have only methim twice. On both occasions I was in London for a boy's holiday(having come up for a week or so from Wiltshire), and lost sight ofhim again directly. The letter bearing my name and address whichyou found upon his table, and which led to your applying to me, isin answer, you will observe, to one he wrote from this house thevery day he was taken ill, making an appointment with him at his ownrequest. Here is his letter, if you wish to see it.'

The landlord read it; the landlady looked over him. Thechambermaid, in the background, made out as much of it as she could,and invented the rest; believing it all from that time forth as apositive piece of evidence.

'He has very little luggage, you say?' observed the gentleman, whowas no other than our old friend, John Westlock.

'Nothing but a portmanteau,' said the landlord; 'and very little init.'

'A few pounds in his purse, though?'

'Yes. It's sealed up, and in the cash-box. I made a memorandum ofthe amount, which you're welcome to see.'

'Well!' said John, 'as the medical gentleman says the fever musttake its course, and nothing can be done just now beyond giving himhis drinks regularly and having him carefully attended to, nothingmore can be said that I know of, until he is in a condition to giveus some information. Can you suggest anything else?'

'N-no,' replied the landlord, 'except--'

'Except, who's to pay, I suppose?' said John.

'Why,' hesitated the landlord, 'it would be as well.'

'Quite as well,' said the landlady.

'Not forgetting to remember the servants,' said the chambermaid in abland whisper.

'It is but reasonable, I fully admit,' said John Westlock. 'At allevents, you have the stock in hand to go upon for the present; and Iwill readily undertake to pay the doctor and the nurses.'

'Ah!' cried Mrs Gamp. 'A rayal gentleman!'

She groaned her admiration so audibly, that they all turned round.Mrs Gamp felt the necessity of advancing, bundle in hand, andintroducing herself.

'The night-nurse,' she observed, 'from Kingsgate Street, wellbeknown to Mrs Prig the day-nurse, and the best of creeturs. How isthe poor dear gentleman to-night? If he an't no better yet, stillthat is what must be expected and prepared for. It an't the fusttime by a many score, ma'am,' dropping a curtsey to the landlady,'that Mrs Prig and me has nussed together, turn and turn about, oneoff, one on. We knows each other's ways, and often gives reliefwhen others fail. Our charges is but low, sir'--Mrs Gampaddressed herself to John on this head--'considerin' the nater ofour painful dooty. If they wos made accordin' to our wishes, theywould be easy paid.'

Regarding herself as having now delivered her inauguration address,Mrs Gamp curtseyed all round, and signified her wish to be conductedto the scene of her official duties. The chambermaid led her,through a variety of intricate passages, to the top of the house;and pointing at length to a solitary door at the end of a gallery,informed her that yonder was the chamber where the patient lay.That done, she hurried off with all the speed she could make.

Mrs Gamp traversed the gallery in a great heat from having carriedher large bundle up so many stairs, and tapped at the door which wasimmediately opened by Mrs Prig, bonneted and shawled and allimpatience to be gone. Mrs Prig was of the Gamp build, but not sofat; and her voice was deeper and more like a man's. She had also abeard.

'I began to think you warn't a-coming!' Mrs Prig observed, in somedispleasure.

'It shall be made good to-morrow night,' said Mrs Gamp 'Honorable.I had to go and fetch my things.' She had begun to make signs ofinquiry in reference to the position of the patient and hisoverhearing them--for there was a screen before the door--whenMrs Prig settled that point easily.

'Oh!' she said aloud, 'he's quiet, but his wits is gone. It an't nomatter wot you say.'

'The pickled salmon,' Mrs Prig replied, 'is quite delicious. I canpartlck'ler recommend it. Don't have nothink to say to the coldmeat, for it tastes of the stable. The drinks is all good.'

Mrs Gamp expressed herself much gratified.

'The physic and them things is on the drawers and mankleshelf,' saidMrs Prig, cursorily. 'He took his last slime draught at seven. Theeasy-chair an't soft enough. You'll want his piller.'

Mrs Gamp thanked her for these hints, and giving her a friendly goodnight, held the door open until she had disappeared at the other endof the gallery. Having thus performed the hospitable duty of seeingher safely off, she shut it, locked it on the inside, took up herbundle, walked round the screen, and entered on her occupation ofthe sick chamber.

'A little dull, but not so bad as might be,' Mrs Gamp remarked.'I'm glad to see a parapidge, in case of fire, and lots of roofs andchimley-pots to walk upon.'

It will be seen from these remarks that Mrs Gamp was looking out ofwindow. When she had exhausted the prospect, she tried theeasy-chair, which she indignantly declared was 'harder than abrickbadge.' Next she pursued her researches among thephysic-bottles, glasses, jugs, and tea-cups; and when she hadentirely satisfied her curiosity on all these subjects ofinvestigation, she untied her bonnet-strings and strolled up to thebedside to take a look at the patient.

A young man--dark and not ill-looking--with long black hair, thatseemed the blacker for the whiteness of the bed-clothes. His eyeswere partly open, and he never ceased to roll his head from side toside upon the pillow, keeping his body almost quiet. He did notutter words; but every now and then gave vent to an expression ofimpatience or fatigue, sometimes of surprise; and still his restlesshead--oh, weary, weary hour!--went to and fro without a moment'sintermission.

Mrs Gamp solaced herself with a pinch of snuff, and stood looking athim with her head inclined a little sideways, as a connoisseur mightgaze upon a doubtful work of art. By degrees, a horribleremembrance of one branch of her calling took possession of thewoman; and stooping down, she pinned his wandering arms against hissides, to see how he would look if laid out as a dead man. Herfingers itched to compose his limbs in that last marble attitude.

'Ah!' said Mrs Gamp, walking away from the bed, 'he'd make a lovelycorpse.'

She now proceeded to unpack her bundle; lighted a candle with theaid of a fire-box on the drawers; filled a small kettle, as apreliminary to refreshing herself with a cup of tea in the course ofthe night; laid what she called 'a little bit of fire,' for the samephilanthropic purpose; and also set forth a small tea-board, thatnothing might be wanting for her comfortable enjoyment. Thesepreparations occupied so long, that when they were brought to aconclusion it was high time to think about supper; so she rang thebell and ordered it.

'I think, young woman,' said Mrs Gamp to the assistant chambermaid,in a tone expressive of weakness, 'that I could pick a little bit ofpickled salmon, with a nice little sprig of fennel, and a sprinklingof white pepper. I takes new bread, my dear, with just a little patof fresh butter, and a mossel of cheese. In case there should besuch a thing as a cowcumber in the 'ouse, will you be so kind asbring it, for I'm rather partial to 'em, and they does a world ofgood in a sick room. If they draws the Brighton Old Tipper here, Itakes THAT ale at night, my love, it bein' considered wakeful by thedoctors. And whatever you do, young woman, don't bring more than ashilling's-worth of gin and water-warm when I rings the bell asecond time; for that is always my allowance, and I never takes adrop beyond!'

Having preferred these moderate requests, Mrs Gamp observed that shewould stand at the door until the order was executed, to the endthat the patient might not be disturbed by her opening it a secondtime; and therefore she would thank the young woman to 'look sharp.'

A tray was brought with everything upon it, even to the cucumber andMrs Gamp accordingly sat down to eat and drink in high good humour.The extent to which she availed herself of the vinegar, and suppedup that refreshing fluid with the blade of her knife, can scarcelybe expressed in narrative.

'Ah!' sighed Mrs Gamp, as she meditated over the warm shilling's-worth, 'what a blessed thing it is--living in a wale--to becontented! What a blessed thing it is to make sick people happy intheir beds, and never mind one's self as long as one can do aservice! I don't believe a finer cowcumber was ever grow'd. I'm sureI never see one!'

She moralised in the same vein until her glass was empty, and thenadmistered the patient's medicine, by the simple process ofclutching his windpipe to make him gasp, and immediately pouring itdown his throat.

'I a'most forgot the piller, I declare!' said Mrs Gamp, drawing itaway. 'There! Now he's comfortable as he can be, I'm sure! I musttry to make myself as much so as I can.'

With this view, she went about the construction of an extemporaneousbed in the easy-chair, with the addition of the next easy one forher feet. Having formed the best couch that the circumstancesadmitted of, she took out of her bundle a yellow night-cap, ofprodigious size, in shape resembling a cabbage; which article ofdress she fixed and tied on with the utmost care, previouslydivesting herself of a row of bald old curls that could scarcely becalled false, they were so very innocent of anything approaching todeception. From the same repository she brought forth a night-jacket,in which she also attired herself. Finally, she produced awatchman's coat which she tied round her neck by the sleeves, sothat she become two people; and looked, behind, as if she were inthe act of being embraced by one of the old patrol.

All these arrangements made, she lighted the rush-light, coiledherself up on her couch, and went to sleep. Ghostly and dark theroom became, and full of lowering shadows. The distant noises inthe streets were gradually hushed; the house was quiet as asepulchre; the dead of might was coffined in the silent city.

Oh, weary, weary hour! Oh, haggard mind, groping darkly through thepast; incapable of detaching itself from the miserable present;dragging its heavy chain of care through imaginary feasts andrevels, and scenes of awful pomp; seeking but a moment's rest amongthe long-forgotten haunts of childhood, and the resorts ofyesterday; and dimly finding fear and horror everywhere! Oh, weary,weary hour! What were the wanderings of Cain, to these!

Still, without a moment's interval, the burning head tossed to andfro. Still, from time to time, fatigue, impatience, suffering, andsurprise, found utterance upon that rack, and plainly too, thoughnever once in words. At length, in the solemn hour of midnight, hebegan to talk; waiting awfully for answers sometimes; as thoughinvisible companions were about his bed; and so replying to theirspeech and questioning again.

Mrs Gamp awoke, and sat up in her bed; presenting on the wall theshadow of a gigantic night constable, struggling with a prisoner.

He burst into a laugh, which, being prolonged, fell off into adismal wail. Checking himself, with fierce inconstancy he beganto count--fast.

'One--two--three--four--five--six.'

"One, two, buckle my shoe,"' said Mrs Gamp, who was now on herknees, lighting the fire, "three, four, shut the door,"--I wishyou'd shut your mouth, young man--"five, six, picking up sticks."If I'd got a few handy, I should have the kettle boiling all thesooner.'

Awaiting this desirable consummation, she sat down so close to thefender (which was a high one) that her nose rested upon it; and forsome time she drowsily amused herself by sliding that featurebackwards and forwards along the brass top, as far as she could,without changing her position to do it. She maintained, all thewhile, a running commentary upon the wanderings of the man in bed.

'That makes five hundred and twenty-one men, all dressed alike, andwith the same distortion on their faces, that have passed in at thewindow, and out at the door,' he cried, anxiously. 'Look there!Five hundred and twenty-two--twenty-three--twenty-four. Do you seethem?'

The fire beginning by this time to impart a grateful warmth, MrsGamp became silent; gradually rubbed her nose more and more slowlyalong the top of the fender; and fell into a heavy doze. She wasawakened by the room ringing (as she fancied) with a name she knew:

'Chuzzlewit!'

The sound was so distinct and real, and so full of agonisedentreaty, that Mrs Gamp jumped up in terror, and ran to the door.She expected to find the passage filled with people, come to tellher that the house in the city had taken fire. But the place wasempty; not a soul was there. She opened the window, and looked out.Dark, dull, dingy, and desolate house-tops. As she passed to herseat again, she glanced at the patient. Just the same; but silent.Mrs Gamp was so warm now, that she threw off the watchman's coat,and fanned herself.

'It seemed to make the wery bottles ring,' she said. 'What could Ihave been a-dreaming of? That dratted Chuffey, I'll be bound.'

The supposition was probable enough. At any rate, a pinch of snuff,and the song of the steaming kettle, quite restored the tone of MrsGamp's nerves, which were none of the weakest. She brewed her tea;made some buttered toast; and sat down at the tea-board, with herface to the fire.

When once again, in a tone more terrible than that which hadvibrated in her slumbering ear, these words were shrieked out:

'Chuzzlewit! Jonas! No!'

Mrs Gamp dropped the cup she was in the act of raising to her lips,and turned round with a start that made the little tea-board leap.The cry had come from the bed.

It was bright morning the next time Mrs Gamp looked out of thewindow, and the sun was rising cheerfully. Lighter and lighter grewthe sky, and noisier the streets; and high into the summer airuprose the smoke of newly kindled fires, until the busy day wasbroad awake.

Mrs Prig relieved punctually, having passed a good night at herother patient's. Mr Westlock came at the same time, but he was notadmitted, the disorder being infectious. The doctor came too. Thedoctor shook his head. It was all he could do, under thecircumstances, and he did it well.

'What sort of a night, nurse?'

'Restless, sir,' said Mrs Gamp.

'Talk much?'

'Middling, sir,' said Mrs Gamp.

'Nothing to the purpose, I suppose?'

'Oh bless you, no, sir. Only jargon.'

'Well!' said the doctor, 'we must keep him quiet; keep the roomcool; give him his draughts regularly; and see that he's carefullylooked to. That's all!'

'And as long as Mrs Prig and me waits upon him, sir, no fear ofthat,' said Mrs Gamp.

The laws of sympathy between beards and birds, and the secret sourceof that attraction which frequently impels a shaver of the one to bea dealer in the other, are questions for the subtle reasoning ofscientific bodies; not the less so, because their investigationwould seem calculated to lead to no particular result. It is enoughto know that the artist who had the honour of entertaining Mrs Gampas his first-floor lodger, united the two pursuits of barbering andbird-fancying; and that it was not an original idea of his, but onein which he had, dispersed about the by-streets and suburbs of thetown, a host of rivals.

The name of the householder was Paul Sweedlepipe. But he wascommonly called Poll Sweedlepipe; and was not uncommonly believed tohave been so christened, among his friends and neighbours.

With the exception of the staircase, and his lodger's privateapartment, Poll Sweedlepipe's house was one great bird's nest.Gamecocks resided in the kitchen; pheasants wasted the brightness oftheir golden plumage on the garret; bantams roosted in the cellar;owls had possession of the bedroom; and specimens of all the smallerfry of birds chirrupped and twittered in the shop. The staircasewas sacred to rabbits. There in hutches of all shapes and kinds,made from old packing-cases, boxes, drawers, and tea-chests, theyincreased in a prodigious degree, and contributed their sharetowards that complicated whiff which, quite impartially, and withoutdistinction of persons, saluted every nose that was put intoSweedlepipe's easy shaving-shop.

Many noses found their way there, for all that, especially on Sundaymorning, before church-time. Even archbishops shave, or must beshaved, on a Sunday, and beards WILL grow after twelve o'clock onSaturday night, though it be upon the chins of base mechanics; who,not being able to engage their valets by the quarter, hire them bythe job, and pay them--oh, the wickedness of copper coin!--in dirtypence. Poll Sweedlepipe, the sinner, shaved all comers at a pennyeach, and cut the hair of any customer for twopence; and being alone unmarried man, and having some connection in the bird line, Pollgot on tolerably well.

He was a little elderly man, with a clammy cold right hand, fromwhich even rabbits and birds could not remove the smell of shaving-soap. Poll had something of the bird in his nature; not of thehawk or eagle, but of the sparrow, that builds in chimney-stacks andinclines to human company. He was not quarrelsome, though, like thesparrow; but peaceful, like the dove. In his walk he strutted; and,in this respect, he bore a faint resemblance to the pigeon, as wellas in a certain prosiness of speech, which might, in its monotony,be likened to the cooing of that bird. He was very inquisitive; andwhen he stood at his shop-door in the evening-tide, watching theneighbours, with his head on one side, and his eye cocked knowingly,there was a dash of the raven in him. Yet there was no morewickedness in Poll than in a robin. Happily, too, when any of hisornithological properties were on the verge of going too far, theywere quenched, dissolved, melted down, and neutralised in the barber;just as his bald head--otherwise, as the head of a shaved magpie--lost itself in a wig of curly black ringlets, parted on one side,and cut away almost to the crown, to indicate immense capacity ofintellect.

Poll had a very small, shrill treble voice, which might have led thewags of Kingsgate Street to insist the more upon his femininedesignation. He had a tender heart, too; for, when he had a goodcommission to provide three or four score sparrows for a shooting-match, he would observe, in a compassionate tone, how singular itwas that sparrows should have been made expressly for such purposes.The question, whether men were made to shoot them, never enteredinto Poll's philosophy.

Poll wore, in his sporting character, a velveteen coat, a great dealof blue stocking, ankle boots, a neckerchief of some bright colour,and a very tall hat. Pursuing his more quiet occupation of barber,he generally subsided into an apron not over-clean, a flanneljacket, and corduroy knee-shorts. It was in this latter costume,but with his apron girded round his waist, as a token of his havingshut up shop for the night, that he closed the door one evening,some weeks after the occurrences detailed in the last chapter, andstood upon the steps in Kingsgate Street, listening until the littlecracked bell within should leave off ringing. For until it did--this was Mr Sweedlepipe's reflection--the place never seemed quietenough to be left to itself.

He rolled his apron up a little tighter as he said these words, andhastened down the street. Just as he was turning into Holborn, heran against a young gentleman in a livery. This youth was bold,though small, and with several lively expressions of displeasure,turned upon him instantly.

The young gentleman pronounced the two last words in a very loudtone and with frightful emphasis, as though they contained withinthemselves the essence of the direst aggravation. But he hadscarcely done so, when his anger yielded to surprise, and he cried,in a milder tone:

'What! Polly!'

'Why, it an't you, sure!' cried Poll. 'It can't be you!'

'No. It an't me,' returned the youth. 'It's my son, my oldestone. He's a credit to his father, an't he, Polly?' With thisdelicate little piece of banter, he halted on the pavement, and wentround and round in circles, for the better exhibition of his figure;rather to the inconvenience of the passengers generally, who werenot in an equal state of spirits with himself.

'Have I!' returned his young friend, who had by this time stuck hishands into the pockets of his white cord breeches, and wasswaggering along at the barber's side. 'D'ye know a pair of top-boots when you see 'em, Polly?--look here!'

'Beau-ti-ful' cried Mr Sweedlepipe.

'D'ye know a slap-up sort of button, when you see it?' said theyouth. 'Don't look at mine, if you ain't a judge, because theselions' heads was made for men of taste; not snobs.'

'I should hope so,' replied the youth. 'Blow the cockade, though;for, except that it don't turn round, it's like the wentilator thatused to be in the kitchen winder at Todgers's. You ain't seen theold lady's name in the Gazette, have you?'

'No,' returned the barber. 'Is she a bankrupt?'

'If she ain't, she will be,' retorted Bailey. 'That bis'ness nevercan be carried on without ME. Well! How are you?'

'Oh! I'm pretty well,' said Poll. 'Are you living at this end ofthe town, or were you coming to see me? Was that the bis'ness thatbrought you to Holborn?'

'I haven't got no bis'ness in Holborn,' returned Bailey, with somedispleasure. 'All my bis'ness lays at the West End. I've got theright sort of governor now. You can't see his face for hiswhiskers, and can't see his whiskers for the dye upon 'em. That's agentleman ain't it? You wouldn't like a ride in a cab, would you?Why, it wouldn't be safe to offer it. You'd faint away, only to seeme a-comin' at a mild trot round the corner.'

To convey a slight idea of the effect of this approach, Mr Baileycounterfeited in his own person the action of a high-trotting horseand threw up his head so high, in backing against a pump, that heshook his hat off.

'Why, he's own uncle to Capricorn,' said Bailey, 'and brother toCauliflower. He's been through the winders of two chaney shopssince we've had him, and was sold for killin' his missis. That's ahorse, I hope?'

'Ah! you'll never want to buy any more red polls, now,' observedPoll, looking on his young friend with an air of melancholy.'You'll never want to buy any more red polls now, to hang up overthe sink, will you?'

'I should think not,' replied Bailey. 'Reether so. I wouldn't havenothin' to say to any bird below a Peacock; and HE'd be wulgar.Well, how are you?'

'Oh! I'm pretty well,' said Poll. He answered the question againbecause Mr Bailey asked it again; Mr Bailey asked it again, because--accompanied with a straddling action of the white cords, a bend ofthe knees, and a striking forth of the top-boots--it was an easyhorse-fleshy, turfy sort of thing to do.

'Wot are you up to, old feller?' added Mr Bailey, with the samegraceful rakishness. He was quite the man-about-town of theconversation, while the easy-shaver was the child.

'Why, I am going to fetch my lodger home,' said Paul.

'A woman!' cried Mr Bailey, 'for a twenty-pun' note!'

The little barber hastened to explain that she was neither a youngwoman, nor a handsome woman, but a nurse, who had been acting as akind of house-keeper to a gentleman for some weeks past, and lefther place that night, in consequence of being superseded by anotherand a more legitimate house-keeper--to wit, the gentleman's bride.

'He's newly married, and he brings his young wife home to-night,'said the barber. 'So I'm going to fetch my lodger away--MrChuzzlewit's, close behind the Post Office--and carry her box forher.'

'Jonas Chuzzlewit's?' said Bailey.

'Ah!' returned Paul: 'that's the name sure enough. Do you knowhim?'

'Oh, no!' cried Mr Bailey; 'not at all. And I don't know her! Notneither! Why, they first kept company through me, a'most.'

'Ah?' said Paul.

'Ah!' said Mr Bailey, with a wink; 'and she ain't bad looking mindyou. But her sister was the best. SHE was the merry one. I oftenused to have a bit of fun with her, in the hold times!'

Mr Bailey spoke as if he already had a leg and three-quarters in thegrave, and this had happened twenty or thirty years ago. PaulSweedlepipe, the meek, was so perfectly confounded by his precociousself-possession, and his patronizing manner, as well as by hisboots, cockade, and livery, that a mist swam before his eyes, and hesaw--not the Bailey of acknowledged juvenility from Todgers'sCommercial Boarding House, who had made his acquaintance within atwelvemonth, by purchasing, at sundry times, small birds at twopenceeach--but a highly-condensed embodiment of all the sporting groomsin London; an abstract of all the stable-knowledge of the time; asomething at a high-pressure that must have had existence manyyears, and was fraught with terrible experiences. And truly, thoughin the cloudy atmosphere of Todgers's, Mr Bailey's genius had evershone out brightly in this particular respect, it now eclipsed bothtime and space, cheated beholders of their senses, and worked ontheir belief in defiance of all natural laws. He walked along thetangible and real stones of Holborn Hill, an undersized boy; andyet he winked the winks, and thought the thoughts, and did thedeeds, and said the sayings of an ancient man. There was an oldprinciple within him, and a young surface without. He became aninexplicable creature; a breeched and booted Sphinx. There was nocourse open to the barber, but to go distracted himself, or to takeBailey for granted; and he wisely chose the latter.

Mr Bailey was good enough to continue to bear him company, and toentertain him, as they went, with easy conversation on varioussporting topics; especially on the comparative merits, as a generalprinciple, of horses with white stockings, and horses without. Inregard to the style of tail to be preferred, Mr Bailey had opinionsof his own, which he explained, but begged they might by no meansinfluence his friend's, as here he knew he had the misfortune todiffer from some excellent authorities. He treated Mr Sweedlepipeto a dram, compounded agreeably to his own directions, which heinformed him had been invented by a member of the Jockey Club; and,as they were by this time near the barber's destination, he observedthat, as he had an hour to spare, and knew the parties, he would, ifquite agreeable, be introduced to Mrs Gamp.

Paul knocked at Jonas Chuzzlewit's; and, on the door being opened bythat lady, made the two distinguished persons known to one another.It was a happy feature in Mrs Gamp's twofold profession, that itgave her an interest in everything that was young as well as ineverything that was old. She received Mr Bailey with much kindness.

'It's very good, I'm sure, of you to come,' she said to herlandlord, 'as well as bring so nice a friend. But I'm afraidthat I must trouble you so far as to step in, for the young couplehas not yet made appearance.'

'They're late, ain't they?' inquired her landlord, when she hadconducted them downstairs into the kitchen.

'Well, sir, considern' the Wings of Love, they are,' said Mrs Gamp.

Mr Bailey inquired whether the Wings of Love had ever won a plate,or could be backed to do anything remarkable; and being informedthat it was not a horse, but merely a poetical or figurativeexpression, evinced considerable disgust. Mrs Gamp was so very muchastonished by his affable manners and great ease, that she was aboutto propound to her landlord in a whisper the staggering inquiry,whether he was a man or a boy, when Mr Sweedlepipe, anticipating herdesign, made a timely diversion.

'He knows Mrs Chuzzlewit,' said Paul aloud.

'There's nothin' he don't know; that's my opinion,' observed MrsGamp. 'All the wickedness of the world is Print to him.'

Mr Bailey received this as a compliment, and said, adjusting hiscravat, 'reether so.'

'Whew!' cried Mr Bailey, slapping a little cloud of pipe-clay out ofhis left leg, 'then he's been and married the merry one!'

As these words were mysterious, Mrs Gamp called upon him to explain,which Mr Bailey proceeded to do; that lady listening greedily toeverything he said. He was yet in the fullness of his narrative whenthe sound of wheels, and a double knock at the street door,announced the arrival of the newly married couple. Begging him toreserve what more he had to say for her hearing on the way home,Mrs Gamp took up the candle, and hurried away to receive and welcomethe young mistress of the house.

'Wishing you appiness and joy with all my art,' said Mrs Gamp,dropping a curtsey as they entered the hall; 'and you, too, sir.Your lady looks a little tired with the journey, Mr Chuzzlewit, apretty dear!'

'This way, ma'am, if you please,' said Mrs Gamp, going upstairsbefore them. 'Things has been made as comfortable as they could be,but there's many things you'll have to alter your own self when yougets time to look about you! Ah! sweet thing! But you don't,' addedMrs Gamp, internally, 'you don't look much like a merry one, I mustsay!'

It was true; she did not. The death that had gone before the bridalseemed to have left its shade upon the house. The air was heavy andoppressive; the rooms were dark; a deep gloom filled up every chinkand corner. Upon the hearthstone, like a creature of ill omen, satthe aged clerk, with his eyes fixed on some withered branches in thestove. He rose and looked at her.

'So there you are, Mr Chuff,' said Jonas carelessly, as he dustedhis boots; 'still in the land of the living, eh?'

'Still in the land of the living, sir,' retorted Mrs Gamp. 'And MrChuffey may thank you for it, as many and many a time I've toldhim.'

Mr Jonas was not in the best of humours, for he merely said, as helooked round, 'We don't want you any more, you know, Mrs Gamp.'

'I'm a-going immediate, sir,' returned the nurse; 'unless there'snothink I can do for you, ma'am. Ain't there,' said Mrs Gamp, witha look of great sweetness, and rummaging all the time in her pocket;'ain't there nothink I can do for you, my little bird?'

'No,' said Merry, almost crying. 'You had better go away, please!'

With a leer of mingled sweetness and slyness; with one eye on thefuture, one on the bride, and an arch expression in her face, partlyspiritual, partly spirituous, and wholly professional and peculiarto her art; Mrs Gamp rummaged in her pocket again, and took from ita printed card, whereon was an inscription copied from her signboard.

'Would you be so good, my darling dovey of a dear young marriedlady,' Mrs Gamp observed, in a low voice, 'as put that somewhereswhere you can keep it in your mind? I'm well beknown to manyladies, and it's my card. Gamp is my name, and Gamp my nater.Livin' quite handy, I will make so bold as call in now and then, andmake inquiry how your health and spirits is, my precious chick!'

And with innumerable leers, winks, coughs, nods, smiles, andcurtseys, all leading to the establishment of a mysterious andconfidential understanding between herself and the bride, Mrs Gamp,invoking a blessing upon the house, leered, winked, coughed, nodded,smiled, and curtseyed herself out of the room.

'But I will say, and I would if I was led a Martha to the Stakes forit,' Mrs Gamp remarked below stairs, in a whisper, 'that she don'tlook much like a merry one at this present moment of time.'

'Ah! wait till you hear her laugh!' said Bailey.

'Hem!' cried Mrs Gamp, in a kind of groan. 'I will, child.'

They said no more in the house, for Mrs Gamp put on her bonnet, MrSweedlepipe took up her box; and Mr Bailey accompanied them towardsKingsgate Street; recounting to Mrs Gamp as they went along, theorigin and progress of his acquaintance with Mrs Chuzzlewit and hersister. It was a pleasant instance of this youth's precocity, thathe fancied Mrs Gamp had conceived a tenderness for him, and was muchtickled by her misplaced attachment.

As the door closed heavily behind them, Mrs Jonas sat down in achair, and felt a strange chill creep upon her, whilst she lookedabout the room. It was pretty much as she had known it, butappeared more dreary. She had thought to see it brightened toreceive her.

'It ain't good enough for you, I suppose?' said Jonas, watching herlooks.

'Why, it IS dull,' said Merry, trying to be more herself.

'It'll be duller before you're done with it,' retorted Jonas, 'ifyou give me any of your airs. You're a nice article, to turn sulkyon first coming home! Ecod, you used to have life enough, when youcould plague me with it. The gal's downstairs. Ring the bell forsupper, while I take my boots off!'

She roused herself from looking after him as he left the room, to dowhat he had desired; when the old man Chuffey laid his hand softlyon her arm.

'You are not married?' he said eagerly. 'Not married?'

'Yes. A month ago. Good Heaven, what is the matter?'

He answered nothing was the matter; and turned from her. But in herfear and wonder, turning also, she saw him raise his trembling handsabove his head, and heard him say:

'Oh! woe, woe, woe, upon this wicked house!'

It was her welcome--HOME.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

SHOWING THAT OLD FRIENDS MAY NOT ONLY APPEAR WITH NEW FACES, BUT INFALSE COLOURS. THAT PEOPLE ARE PRONE TO BITE, AND THAT BITERS MAYSOMETIMES BE BITTEN.

Mr Bailey, Junior--for the sporting character, whilom of generalutility at Todgers's, had now regularly set up in life under thatname, without troubling himself to obtain from the legislature adirect licence in the form of a Private Bill, which of all kinds andclasses of bills is without exception the most unreasonable in itscharges--Mr Bailey, Junior, just tall enough to be seen by aninquiring eye, gazing indolently at society from beneath the apronof his master's cab, drove slowly up and down Pall Mall, about thehour of noon, in waiting for his 'Governor.' The horse ofdistinguished family, who had Capricorn for his nephew, andCauliflower for his brother, showed himself worthy of his highrelations by champing at the bit until his chest was white withfoam, and rearing like a horse in heraldry; the plated harness andthe patent leather glittered in the sun; pedestrians admired; MrBailey was complacent, but unmoved. He seemed to say, 'A barrow,good people, a mere barrow; nothing to what we could do, if wechose!' and on he went, squaring his short green arms outside theapron, as if he were hooked on to it by his armpits.

Mr Bailey had a great opinion of Brother to Cauliflower, andestimated his powers highly. But he never told him so. On thecontrary, it was his practice, in driving that animal, to assail himwith disrespectful, if not injurious, expressions, as, 'Ah! wouldyou!' 'Did you think it, then?' 'Where are you going to now?' 'No,you won't, my lad!' and similar fragmentary remarks. These beingusually accompanied by a jerk of the rein, or a crack of the whip,led to many trials of strength between them, and to many contentionsfor the upper-hand, terminating, now and then, in china-shops, andother unusual goals, as Mr Bailey had already hinted to his friendPoll Sweedlepipe.

On the present occasion Mr Bailey, being in spirits, was more thancommonly hard upon his charge; in consequence of which that fieryanimal confined himself almost entirely to his hind legs indisplaying his paces, and constantly got himself into positions with